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I'm going to tell you a story, and it does not start with "Once upon a time...", but she might wish it did. For then, she too would be blissfully fictional and not painfully human. It is about the girl like any other. She liked the smell ground after the rain and hated the ultimate heat of the summer. Loved to get lost in the known parts of the woods and enjoyed how a creek can wash off all kinds of emotions. She loved dogs. Had two. She often admired her yellow cat for the simplicity of the days... Candles were for tough days and something sweet for every. Wind could make her feel alive and soothe the anger of raw emotion and strange people. She adored smelling that celestial aroma on her wrists, but often forget to put the perfume on. Loved ladybugs and nightingales, but never actually heard the exact lullaby. Fireflies were the magic and leaves could tell a story, though often a gloomy one. Spring could make her feel the pain of melancholy and autumn would make her feel alive again. Blood would make her wonder and people made her sick. Some days all the bottles of laughter she cherished so fondly were cracked and leaked in places, in time, melted with pain and grief. And when all that heroic pain became a burden, she'd start to grieve for the person she was before... the softness of a pillow, hot showers, and chocolate... the best thing for the worn-out soul. so that's when she'd realize that grief was just wild and forgotten love. Eyes are the mirrors and grin is a battle scar. Nothing can turn back time. Except for memories. And sometimes she hated that wretched window she could easily open. But through the image, the glass was already gone. So she would think of salt as an ocean and not a drop. Wild, ultimate, and free. The smell of the ocean always brought smiles and with the scent of pines, the moment of freedom. Cold is clarity for her and heat is too much. She likes the color blue and the sky with puffy clouds. In fields of green, she's frequently looking for clover with three petals, because that brings peace to the storms in the force of life around her. December sun can make her soul warm and she would smile like a new miracle was found. Every night they met, she often asked the Moon if she can make her full too because she was torn between the wonder of thoughts and wounds of reality; that didn't make her bitter, just more human than she knew. So, you see, all people enjoy Earth and what they think magic is in their different, but just another way of understanding the real world around them. Romanticized by the poets and worshipped by the nature. And sometimes air around you shifts and the path for the day goes well off the tracks... and the whole world is against you. Those days you frequently ask yourself about the mere purpose, but there's no known response that can bring you enough wisdom or happiness. It all belongs to you. All that pain and joy. Mind is a strange struggle itself, and I believe completely in that quote I bear in my mind; it sometimes creeps in, like a phantom and I find it sipping herbal tea, oblivious to my fear... "Not all those who wander are lost." So when our girl, that this story is about, goes looking for that particular wardrobe, blue box or huge hole near the tree... or even second star in the night sky... don't you dare to stop her! You can join her of course, and bring a book! She might not be fond of people in general, but I can tell that she likes humans with a rainbow in their eyes.
We will talk about Ahmad Ali Molania jelodar He was born in 1985 And in Iran, Mazandaran, Babol and the city of Gotab He started kung fu at the age of 18 And from the age of 22 he has continued this martial art of kickboxing professionally until he has won more than 13 championships in Iran from the age of 25 to the age of 30. In total, he was a writer and wrote articles in several weekly magazines and monthly magazines in Iran. The number of his articles in 4 years was 330. Ahmed Ali is an expert in metaphysics and in 2020 he was the most powerful metaphysical martial artist in the world who has never been found like him in history. He is currently an IT Engineering Expert and a Master of Industrial Engineering And has 3 companies in Iran, the largest of which is Info Universe Which is an IT company with special services.
Quarantine: where time decides to ignore all of its own rules of propriety. How odd it has been, I must tell you. I've found myself doing normal activities and not being able to remember the actions I'm doing as I'm doing them. What separates one moment from the next anymore? Your own decision to make this second now and the next, later. So in this gulf that names itself quarantine, it's all apparently one single moment - seconds fall into more seconds, minutes fall into hours, and soon seconds fall into weeks, and I wake up not knowing when the clocks hands moved from one number to the next. So, one minute I'll be washing my hands, and in the next, or maybe in the same minute, or perhaps in the previous minute, I'll be outside the next day, on a walk. It appears I am powerless to time's effects. As numbers climb, in this second that's passed since this all started (or one year, I am no longer sure), I've been left to thoughts that know no time either. I find myself in constant disorder, being confused, much like time, by rules of living I cultivated for myself. Example: I'm a collection of existing, breathing parts. But I'm also a collation of people's perceptions of my those parts, dreamt into a version of me that I have never met. Conclusively I'm left alone in my own hull of a body, in a position where I have to truly stare myself in the face and ask, who are you? What makes you do as you do? The issue is I never reply. Nuisance. I knew my introversion would catch up with me at some point. So, amidst all the turmoil, I searched for some sort of salvation from my own petulance and pouting, and discovered a reprieve. The only answer for me, was to do magic, as I'm doing now. You may know it as creating. You see, creating is real magic. I don't mean the kind you find hidden in wands and cauldrons. That magic is finite and clearly fictional. Creativity is real life magic. It's the type of magic that's like being alive with animation so vicious, it's as though you have ambrosia for blood. It's the way fire is constantly dancing in spite of everything. It's the old emotions forgotten under your bed, rediscovered on a rainy day. It's the way we're all connected by the empty space that separates us. It's built into citadels, condensed into paint tubes, translated into words on a page. It's everywhere, boundless and undeniable. So I create, and I create, and I create, and sometimes I sit stunted, with worlds at my fingertips, and I can feel them stirring, opening their eyes, and all I need to figure out is how to summon them, but the magic is there. In this, I have discovered a state of being where I can calm my thoughts when they become disquieting, and the news becomes evermore, hellish. Magic is quite the magnificent tool. A marvelous outlet. Thus, I compose for you a poem, comprised of my griefs and perfidious thoughts, magicked into something beautiful as an example, because it's the only way I know how to quell my loquacious whelp of a think-tank. Title: A Glass Filled With The Universe. What do you feel when you look up at the stars? Look at the endless expanse that encompasses you more than you've ever thought to think about? Is it hurt? Do you ache with longing for this thing you've never known? Do you feel its absence? Or are you already acquainted with Andromeda, and Taurus, and it is in fact yourself you are unfamiliar with And what you feel is rather a painless awakeness An awakeness so urgently present and real, you wonder when you'd ever gone to sleep In which pain is so lacking, you find it mystifying that you've been living a life where every breath had some aspect of woe or affliction Or perhaps it's quietness you feel, synonymous with candlelight Unlike silence, the deafening, deceitful creature A quietness that hasn't ever existed to us human beings who fill the earth with such copious amounts of clamor and entitled whining Noise, that midnight soul you peer into now, once knew to be without Or maybe it's not the stars at all you seek Maybe what you feel is restless moon-drunk wondering as to why that cratered rock has never loved you back We are fickle beings, faithless and forever erratically changing But the inexplicable tightening in your chest never strays when you tilt your head back does it? You haven't noticed it have you? Nonetheless the jamais vu whispers to you And your dreams are filled with them too, you can't deny To conclude, friend, this piece of writing is in shambles, but such is the world, and I am a mirror that cannot help but reflect. The point is to tell you, even if you are at the depths of the pit of these trialing times, or of the canyon of the ‘undiscovered you', create where you can. Sing into the void, paint coloured lights, create portals with your words. Magic is a victor over the lives of the weighted. It will fill you with a lightness, even if the day leaves you brittle.
You say you want to find Love; you say you want to have romance What does really love mean for you? It's a non-cliché question Don't give a cliché definition, its worn out Don't be a stereotype, it's boring Imagine love like you really want it to be, like a gift you have not yet unwrapped. What a surprise to come! Is Love the gift of another person? Is love a magic potion with 12 roses and fresh petals? Could you give love without expectation? Love could be a delicate feather, ready to fly away If you don't pay attention to it Love is freedom of expression, freedom to be yourself No limits No regrets No second thoughts What is Romance to you? Romance is the child of Love When all is open and free and sincere Love is a cup of coffee with fresh cream on top Drink your cup of love and enjoy. The answer to love question Love is like a chocolate Again No limits No regrets No second thoughts A chocolate with nuts and almonds Don't give a cliché definition, its worn out Don't be a stereotype, it's boring Imagine love like you really want it to be You are the best companion when I feel down Maybe you are confused To whom I am referring A chocolate bar is ready to be eaten Like Love, sweet and tender
It all begins at 666 West Alchemy Road... Discover the "Secrets of Ravenstone" as a young woman of demonic origins travels to the mysterious Isle of Castillion, where she encounters supernatural and paranormal characters and is introduced to creatures of legend that dwell beneath the island. Follow her dangerous journey, as she's chosen by an ancient orb-stone that has yet to reveal its own secrets. ....................**********....................**********....................**********....................**********........ Book One in my urban fantasy/paranormal romance book series. If you enjoy vampires (that don't sparkle or eat solid foods) lycans (Underworld inspired), jinn, demons, dragons, hellhounds, magic and more, then this could be the series for you!
Oh my gosh! I am almost there! I have just chosen the cover for my book Viktor which is estimated to be out sometime in the summer of 2020. Time is flying by or have you not noticed?? LOL It is so great to be publishing. I have waited forty years to do this and I am ever so excited. My fantasy fiction novel is about a young vampire who has fallen in love. He desires a normal life and wife and kids and the whole nine yards. He is moral and loving; but, he must fight for all that is good. He is loved by many and wanted by all. In his fight for his life he must save himself and everyone else for if he doesn't; all will fall into hell. I'm proud to say so far that Friesen Press is helping me to Self publish this book. I am so excited and thrilled to be able to see my work in a real book. This is amazing to me and something everyone should try and do. This past summer I retrieved myself another Chi. She is adorable and her name is D'aff N'aia. She compliments my Bonzo quite nicely. Quite the little monkey she is; I might add, yet her lovely demeanor is very loving. Right now she is teething and biting my hands up to shreds. She loves my knuckles and has taken a liking to chomping on them at any chance she gets. She cries whenever she can't see you and has dug up the dirt in my plants. I love that she airrates; but the mess!!!LOL puppies! She's also discovered she likes coffee! Yes, when she kisses me she can taste it on my lips. She is very smart and has come to using her paws to pull my lips apart and get in a few laps. Her nails are so sharp when she paws you, that you cannot help but open your mouth! You're laughing too hard not too and she just jumps in there and starts lapping up the remnants! I swear she's too smart for her own good! Well, she's not getting any more than that! She's definitely hyper already without coffee in the mix! Honestly, she is too cute! Well, at some point this winter I must carry on with "In the Garden of Life". It has been waiting for me. Doing the re-writes for Viktor has taken me away from writing it; but now, I have the time to dedicate to this children's novel about two bees in the garden. I'm trying to make it a magical story and yet I'm not polished at all on magic! Time to study!! Honestly, I haven't a clue how this story will turn out and yet I am excited to write it. Time will tell! Looking forward to hearing from you, Best Regards, Jules
"Aw come on, don't look at me like that..." Dammit. Those enormous eyes were staring at me like I'd just ordered its execution. How could I just leave t there? I had no idea how to explain this to my wife. In my days of adventuring and travel, I'd brought home all kinds of strange things. It was my job, after all; people paid good gold for retrieving artifacts or rare ingredients, heirlooms, whatever they needed. I was their man. Enchanted swords, disembodied eyes that still blinked, satyr hair, even a haunted mirror had all come home with me at some point. My dear Evelina had made peace with it long ago, provided I got rid of my findings in a reasonable amount of time. But the dog-sized baby dragon currently trying to follow me home? I may have finally pushed my luck too far. It made a little warbly noise in its throat, almost like a muted cry. It peered up at me, seemingly seeing right into my soul with its massive green eyes. Its white body shimmered in the light, scattering beams of sun into the mouth of the cave I'd found it in. As far as I could tell, it had been abandoned. Remnants of two other shells, long dried out and disintegrating into the sandy floor, indicated its red and yellow siblings had hatched long ago. The white shell, however, had been still damp from its occupant. The poor thing was mewling pathetically, probably from loneliness, when I found it. Dragons were social creatures, after all. Oh, hell. I let out a long sigh. How could I leave it here, knowing its parents weren't coming back for it? I looked at it. It looked at me. I tried to shut out my traitorous compassion and be logical. It purred and gently pawed at my leg. I lost the battle. "Alright, fine," I growled, not truly angry at it but frustrated by my weakness. The little dragon gave a happy chirp and fluttered its winglets excitedly. A little puff of smoke shot out of its nose. I shouldered my bag and set off down the road. The dragon puttered ain't beside me, green eyes practically glowing with happiness. Tiny claws made a small clattering noise on the uneven cobblestones of the road. I reached down and stroked its wings, eliciting a delighted purr. Maybe Evelina would be swayed by this thing's cuteness. I hoped. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sleeping on the couch, I'd be single.
The Monsters Beneath Me That's where they were: beneath me...under my bed, actually...the grizzly and ghoulish creatures of my childhood imaginings. But, for a six year old boy, still treading the perplexing waters between fantasy and reality, they were as real as the bed I lay upon. Night after night I would lay rigid in my bed, dreading falling asleep, for I knew that once asleep, my arm or leg would come to dangle over the side of my all-too-narrow bed. And that's when it would happen: some hideous, cartoonish monster, or team of them, would snatch my dangling limb and pull me under the bed, where all manner of horrors awaited me. Fearing what lay in wait for me, I would try to fall asleep laying perfectly still in the middle of my bed, legs together, arms tight to my sides, and hope that somehow I might safely awaken in the morning. Often, I would awaken in darkness and deep dread (did I yell for help?), sweating and shaking. Unconvinced that this was “just” a dream, I would lay there in that fixed, rigid position, trying to stay awake, but failing and falling again into sleep. To my great relief, I would indeed awaken safely each morning -- another treacherous and fearful night, survived. And although I would rise to meet the morning with my childish exuberance -- forgetting the sweat-inducing panic and fear of the night before -- all would return upon bedtime. I am not certain how long this phantasmic phase persisted. The memory is fuzzy, distorted by a lifetime since lived. But it seems to have recurred over many days, or periodically, over a week or two. I don't recall sharing these night terrors with my brothers or ever mentioning it to my dad or mom. I was, even at the age of six, deeply embarrassed by the whole thing. And so I felt rather helpless as well. But, possibly due to some innate stubbornness, or exasperation, this terrifying dreaming would abruptly stop. I can recall only opening my eyes, one morning, peering straight up at what seemed to be a wall of wooden slats pressing in on me. Startled, I lifted my head, banging it hard against the wood, exclaiming “Ow!” as one might expect. What was this? What's going on? A few seconds of disorientation and rousing consciousness passed before I realized what was ‘going on' -- where I was: I was underneath my bed! Somehow, in my sleeping state -- and I possessed no memory of doing so -- I had gotten out of bed, and, blanket and all, maneuvered myself onto the floor beneath my bed -- a tight space with just enough room, plus an inch or two, for one six year old boy. I laid there for some time, awake and marveling at this strange feat of magical transportation. And then, another profound realization came over me: if I was under my bed, then there couldn't be monsters under my bed, too -- there was simply no room for them. I remember smiling, even laughing out loud. That whole day I felt a strange, all-pervading sense of calm and confidence that I had never felt previously. I had, unknowingly, found the solution to my night time hallucinations. I had confronted the monsters where they lived and had emerged the stronger! I had become my own hero. No help from mom or dad or divine intervention. And, something in me had changed, permanently. My view of ‘reality', however limited by youthful inexperience, had been forever altered. I felt, deeply, that my Life was no longer the same. Possibly, I might have spent a night or two more sleeping under my bed (just to be sure), but I distinctly recall the complete vanquishing of those limb-snatching ghouls that were just out of sight, and yet so close beneath me. And, over the months following, whenever a new night time phantasm emerged, I would somehow find a way to thwart or out-smart it, as if now possessing magic powers. Over the years, I would come to confront other fears common to many...such as the ‘panic' of having to speak in front of others and even a fear of hypodermic needles. I remember a nurse rubbing the alcohol-soaked swab on my arm, just moments before being ‘stuck'. I started to feel that familiar panic rising up in me. Closing my eyes, slowing my breathing, I recalled that long-ago morning when I woke up beneath my bed. But now, I felt only an eye blink of anxiety, and then a wave of calm flowing over me as the needle pierced my skin. I think I laughed -- surprising myself, and the nurse. This ‘extinguishing' would ultimately prove invaluable as, only a few years afterwards, my dad developed an acute form of dysplastic anemia and was in need of a familial blood supply for possible transfusions. And, in the ride to the hospital, feeling no little pride, I recalled the vanquishing of those monsters once more. It might seem strange to say it now but I believe I first started ‘growing up' the moment that my six-year-old-self woke up, under my bed, bumped my head, and laughed.
Are you a dreamer? Can you put all your dreams into a single life and make them come true? There are far away dreams, like stars in the sky, but in the world of literature everything is possible. We can live thousands of lives in thousands of places and there is no such a power in the whole world that would be able to resist blue sky thinking. The secret of eternal youth is hidden in books. If you are ready to try out a deliciousness of imagination, stay with me and I will treat you to my fantasy. \nLet us start with the first course, which is fairy tales. I have chosen this one, as the first fantasy children are treated to. \\"Twelve month\\",\\"The Swan Princess\\", as well as Disney's \\"Snow White and the seven Dwarfs\\", and \\"The Sleeping Beauty\\" were my first experiences of fantasy. Through fairy tales children get in touch with the real world. Magic had a taste of hot chocolate and was as natural and real as bedtime stories. \nNext, try out the main course and the most important one. When we are young, life is varied in its treats, but you want to be careful, when you reach out your hand to take it, you can get chocolate or marmalade, but then you could also get the flavor of rotten eggs or bitterness; life is not all sweet. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans is known as tricky sweets, but Harry Potter tasted them when he was eleven. The teenage time is a period, when we have no time to hesitate, no time to choose and just enjoy life with all its treats; it is a time to shine! Did you face \u2018dementors' and \u2018boggarts'? They take us aback, while we are trying out life. They are our despair and our fears; thanks to a defense against the dark arts I have fought them and now I keep living and do magic. My wand is my backbone. It is something you could not buy even in the \u2018Diagon Alley', it is an inborn gift, to do magic and it is important to remember, that all of us are \u2018wizards'. Thanks to \u2018Harry Potter' I have learned how to handle the wand since the age of eleven. \nWhat do you want to drink: tea, coffee, or the Universe? The Hatter and his company hold an endless tea party, while the time lord is travelling through time and space, but he always has time to have some tea. How do we use our time? Have you ever thought about it? Imagine all time and space in a cup of tea. No matter how much you have drunk, your cup is full. The opposite situation, when your cup is half-empty, but you have not even taken a gulp yet. These are the examples of how we are in charge of our time: we can plan or we can act. If you just flap you jaw, like Hatter's company you will drop the ball, and not touch the heights of your dream, you must run through your plans and then all the time and space will be at your service. When I was eighteen I tasted the Universe. \nDo you like spices? Any insipid course in our life needs to be dressed with spice. The lack of spices is the lack of emotions. Would you like to live through your previous day? If you are thinking about your day with distaste, it is time to experiment. What kind of taste has your life? I have been experimenting with the menu during my literature experience, so let me tell you what kind of cuisine the fantasy is. The battlefields pouring with dragon flame, the princess with skin of a frog, The Great Sept of Baelor stuffed with wild fire, enemies chopped by the Excalibur are the ingredients of a fantasy meal. If you feel like your life is missing \u2018spices', approach Terry Pratchett, Stephen King, George R.R. Martin, J. R. R. Tolkien, Lewis Carroll or Robert Louis Stevenson, to taste fantasy cuisine.